Rolly was most likely one of a group of well cared for farm cats from the farm up the road, while Whiskers was pure feral, wild and untrusting, competitive and sometimes aggressive to the others.
This is as close as the boys get, the first feed of the day. Kitty has hers well away from the boys.
They don't snuggle up together. In fact, they all have different sleeping areas, and won't even share the settee. They are possessive about their beds, and if another cat 'contaminates' them by trespassing, that's that. The bed is no good any more unless the imposter's smell is removed by the washing machine.
One bed is an exception, however. It's a small, tartan, oval cushion on one end of our long kitchen table.
(Yes, it's on the table. Those with a nervous fear of infection by cat germs look away now. The table is long. There are only two humans living here. We only need one half of the table. The cushion rests at the other end, next to the window and gaining warmth from a heater beneath the table.)
Whiskers loves to sleep on the cushion in the winter, when the heater is on. Kitty sleeps on it during the night. Rolly sleeps on it when the sun shines through the window and he doesn't feel like going out.
It is the only thing in the house the cats will happily share, and this morning it was vacant. I turned round, and there was Smudge, giving it a go for the first time.
Out of all the cats, Smudge has the most comfy and large bed of his own, but he wanted to try the cushion for a while. Not long. Not even long enough for Whiskers to notice. But long enough for this photo.
He's been living with us for six months now. We've had notice that the derelict holiday centre over the road, where he was struggling to survive, is to be demolished soon and a new one built in it's place, complete with restaurant, indoor pool and gym.
I'm so glad I caught him when I did, and he's such a content and peaceful addition to the clan.